Grown up children
by Laila Space
Summary: Five times Sherlock and John behaved like children. No slash. Hopefully humorous. Friendship. Only platonic JL. Will be updated whenever I have the time and if the story gets a positive response. Ideas and opinions welcomed. Please read and review. Rated T just to be safe. Chapter 5 up. COMPLETE.
1. Pillow fight

_Hi guys. This is a new multi chapter story. I thought it would be funny. I will continue if I get a good response to it._

 _It's about the times when our two characters behaved like children [I still haven't made up my mind whether this should be a five or a five plus one]._

 _And for those of you who are following my other story [when there's nothing, we still have each other], fear not for I haven't forgotten about it and I will update it whenever I can._

 _Now, on to the story and I hope you like it. If you do, please read and review._

 _Ta,_

 _Laila._

* * *

John and Sherlock were slumped on the couch. John, because he was tired and Sherlock because he needed to think. It had been quite an ordinary but tiring day (at least for John).

Sherlock had solved a case which had been baffling the Yarders (no surprise there), John had given his medical opinion, Lestrade had stood there open mouthed, Donovan had insulted and Anderson had been insulted.

John was just making up his mind to drag himself off to bed, too tired to even eat something, when Sherlock spoke.

"John"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to sleep."

"Why not?"

"I need a case."

"You just solved a bloody case!"

"It was barely a two."

"I thought you said it was a seven."

"Well, it was ridiculously simple after I solved it."

With a huff of impatience Sherlock got up and made his way to the coat rack, only to find his way blocked by a particular angry army doctor.

"Move, John. I have to put on my coat. It's cold outside."

"Why the hell do you want to go outside, when you've just gotten back?"

"Going to Scotland Yard, of course. Lestrade might have a case."

"Sherlock bloody Holmes, you haven't slept enough, haven't eaten at all and have been surviving on the tea and biscuits I've been forcing on you, for the past four days. You need food and rest. Not a case. So if I tell you to rest, you bloody well will rest."

With that John frogmarched Sherlock and forced him onto the couch from which they had just vacated, the latter groaning complaints all the way much to the displeasure and annoyance of the former.

Once Sherlock was seated, John made his way to the kitchen in the hopes of salvaging something eatable lest a particular detective keels over, when something hit his back.

Turning around he perceived a pillow lying near his feet. With a sigh he looked up and saw the detective sitting with his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. However, John being John also noticed a hint of a smirk dancing around Sherlock's lips.

Bending down to pick up the pillow, John made as if to put the it on the armchair beside him before a smirk of his own crossed his lips. Quick as a flash he threw it across the room, the pillow hitting it's intended target as it landed smack on the scowling detective's face.

The surprise and confusion on Sherlock's face was so comical that it had John leaning on the chair beside him as he forced himself to contain his laughter.

That soon changed when the next missile caught him in the crotch. It was not particularly painful, but the shock instinctively made him cover his vulnerable parts.

Glaring at Sherlock who was trying to explain himself in between bursts of laughter, he grabbed the pillow and making his way over to the detective who was now helplessly rolling over on the ground, hit him with as much force as he could muster.

Sherlock still helpless with laughter, brought up his hands to shield himself from the attack. Then reaching out he wrestled out the pillow from John's grasp and reciprocated the attack.

John now left without a weapon of attack, cast a desperate glance around and spotting another pillow partially hidden under Sherlock's armchair, leaped over the coffee table and gathering the 'weapon' held it in front of him like a shield.

Sherlock jumped up and with the pillow held up, rushed to where John was standing and proceeded to hit him with it.

John for his part, rallied efficiently and dodged a majority of the attacks while landing a few solid hits of his own on Sherlock's now red face.

Hic. "Sto ... Stop that, John" giggle.

Giggle. Snort. "Take that, you ... ".

Sherlock momentarily lapsed in his attack to catch his breath and had his pillow plucked out of his hands. He stared in surprise at his empty hands and looked accusingly at John now holding two cushions and grinning triumphantly.

"That's not fair. You took my weapon!"

John's grin and Sherlock's eyes widened.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was watching telly. It was crap. But still, telly. All she wanted was a peaceful night. Just her, her cuppa and the telly. Apparently that was not to be.

She barely had time to raise her eyebrows in surprise at the footsteps thundering down the stairs when her living room door burst open and bounced off the wall.

A drawn out wail of "Mrs. Huuuudsooon" later she found a giggling, sparkly eyed and red Sherlock hiding behind her armchair.

"Sher ..." was as far as she got before a certain flatmate of Sherlock's came bursting through her living room, his appearance much the same as that of Sherlock's, except for a pillow clasped in each of his hand.

The pillows, however, seemed to have seen better days. They were covered with dirt and had lost most of their stuffing. She had the suspicion that if she were to make her way upstairs, she would find the missing stuffing covering the floor and living room of two truants who were currently waging a war in her room. At night. While she was watching telly. When all she wanted was a peaceful night.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. Really, she ought to be used to this by now.

Again "Boys ... " was as far as she got before John launched himself at Sherlock with what she assumed was a war cry.

She had hardly any time to stand up before Sherlock jumped up with a shriek and stood in front of the poor landlady. With John at her back and Sherlock at the front, she resigned herself to the fact that she would not be watching any telly now, rather, it seemed like she would be subject to missed hits from John's pillows and a night of two children running around her flat, throwing pillows at each other.

* * *

The clock chimed midnight.

All was quiet at Baker Street except for the quiet snores of a consulting detective and an army doctor.

Mrs. Hudson smiled as she caught sight of her boys sprawled together on her carpet, the pillows used as 'weapons' previously now beneath their heads as they slept on, dead to the world.

Smiling, she shook out a blanket and covered them.

Making her way to her bedroom she mused what she had done to gain such grown up children. They were certainly a handful.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. Fair fun

"I don't think this is a good idea, Greg."

"I concur. For once John is speaking sense."

"Ha ha. Funny, Sherlock. You know ... I do actually use my brain. Just not as much as you use yours."

"Hmmm. That is debatable."

Sherlock, John and Greg were standing at the entrance of the winter wonderland.

"You two need a break. And it helps when I've just won the lottery. Everybody knows the winter wonderland is not for people with lighter pockets." Greg said, looking around at the colourful array of people, stalls and rides.

"You know, Sherlock, maybe Greg's right. We could take a break. Besides we could get all we want. He does insist on treating us." John said, with a sly grin.

"Now wait a minute. You are not about to rob me dry, are you? I still have to treat the wife to a dinner." Greg asked, eyes widening slightly.

"No, you're not. Your wife's gone to stay with her sister and probably doesn't plan on coming back for a long, long, long, long, long ..." Sherlock's rattling was cut off mid stream by the frustrated DI.

"Yeah, alright, alright. Just ... Do whatever you want. I can't backtrack now. God knows why I decided to spend my 500 pounds on you two idiots." Greg muttered.

"Great. John, lead the way."

* * *

Half an hour later :

"Gavin, hurry up."

"Yeah, I would if I could." Greg complained as he shifted the many parcels of sweets, desserts, junk foods, a huge stuffed bear, a plastic toy that looked a cross between an otter and a hedgehog, a packet of M & Ms and a fake swiss army knife.

"Greg, Greg, over here. We have to go on the roller coaster. Please, please, please. Say we can."

"Yes Lestrade. It does look terribly inviting. You can show your heroics by saving me when I ride it without the safety harness on. It would do wonders for your image. Just imagine the headlines : Brave Detective Inspector saves the world's only consulting detective at the risk of his own life."

Lestrade sighed, dumping the things he had been carrying onto the ticket counter (after an apologetic glance towards the ticket seller) and buying three tickets.

Really, what had he been thinking?

* * *

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh. Stop it. Stop it. John heeeeellllpp. I am going to die."

"Sheeeeerrrrrrlloooooocckkkk. You have been a good friend. We will meet again in heeeaaavveenn."

"Both of you shut up and open your eyes. The ride is over."

* * *

"Greeeeggggg."

"Lessssttrrraaaaadddee"

"No. We are not going again. I nearly had a heart attack because I thought that you had really removed your safety belts. I am not going again."

"Fine. Let's go on another ride. Hurry up."

"Wait. I am not just leaving all the food you bought with my money, on the counter. You wait until I pick it up, or I am not lending you any more money."

"Hmph" said two voices.

* * *

"Please."

"Yes, Gavin, please. I'll even lend you my scarf for one day."

"And I'll lend you my ... Christmas jumper."

"What the hell would I need those for?" Lestrade scowled.

"They're ours. And we are famous."

"Yeah. Women and men would kill to have them even if it is just for a day."

And there they were, the world's only consulting detective and his blogger, making puppy eyes at a certain detective Inspector.

"Seriously? Those eyes are not gonna work with me. Do I look like a grandma who melts at puppy eyes? Nope. Not going to happen."

Two minutes later the world's only consulting detective and his blogger walked out of the stall digging into the costliest and tastiest chocolate calzone found in the wonderland, with a detective Inspector loaded with colourful goodies of all shapes and sizes, muttering curses and profanities under his breath, behind them.

* * *

"You promised us." whined a particular Belstaff coated, blue scarfed man.

"Yeah, I promised you that I would spend my lottery to see you both get a break, not that I would accompany you in stupid games and rides." Lestrade said, glaring at the detective and another man who was currently licking up the last of his triple scoop chocolate chip ice cream [Which incidentally he refused to share with Sherlock, as the latter had dropped his equally costly salted caramel ice cream, resulting in Greg separating the both of them when Sherlock tried to lick the dripped ice cream on John's jumper].

"But Greg, you know everything. You are so clever. Surely ice skating must be as easy as ... um ... solving cases without Sherlock's help." John said, slyly trying to wipe his sticky hands on Greg's coat.

Lestrade scowled both at the sly insult and the sly sticky hands [which he none too gently slapped away] and sighed again.

"Fine. But don't blame me when you two land on your butts, because I am not helping you skate."

* * *

"Oww. Ouch. Just ... No, I can make it. I don't need you two 'helping' me."

"We are so sorry, Greg. We just wanted to skate hand in hand like the little kids. We had no idea that you were standing there." John said, gently slapping the DI on the back and wincing at the yelp that proceeded from the owner of the back.

"Now look here. You both dragged me out there onto the ice and then continued to slip and slide all over the place. And the one time that you do fall, you fall on me. Both of you. Why? Why me? Why is it Always me?" Greg asked, shaking his head.

He may as well have been talking to himself, for the next time he looked up, he was alone on the bench.

He looked around to find the two men [giggling]standing under a snow covered tree nearly indistinguishable from the surroundings due to the snow covering their own selves.

"Why is it Always me?" he muttered again, and got to his feet, groaning as he did so, to go after two men [read:children] who were wrecking havoc in his life. Again.

* * *

"What? Why? We just got here." Sherlock asked, frowning.

"And you wanted us to take a break, didn't you?" John backed Sherlock, crossing his arms.

"We've been here nearly the whole day. I am tired from carrying all your goodies. I am cold from chasing you two all around. I feel sick from going on in different rides. And I am hungry." Lestrade said tiredly, resting his chin on his palm and staring up at the two 'men' who remained standing with arms crossed and the mirror image of sulking children.

"You just ate a large hot dog." Sherlock pointed out accusingly.

"No, YOU just ate a large hot dog. And in case you were wondering, I haven't eaten anything except that cucumber sandwich which you proclaimed as disgusting after you spent ten pounds of my precious money on it." Lestrade took a deep breath. "Look, you both spent all my money and we can't do anything else without it. So let's just go home and we'll come back another day."

"But isn't the fair open just for one day?" Sherlock asked, looking at John in confusion.

Greg frowned then opening his mouth to deny, stopped himself. He nodded slowly.

"Yes. Yes ... yeah, the winter wonderland is open only once every year."

"Then I guess we won't come until next year." John whispered mournfully to an equally sad Sherlock, both of them looking around.

Lestrade blanched. He was never again going to a fair again. Let alone with these two.

"No. No, no, no, no ... The winter wonderland closes this year and won't open for another decade or two. So this is the last time we can visit it."

"Oh no."

* * *

Lestrade breathed a sigh of relief when 221 B, Baker street came into view.

Nudging the other two to get out of the car, he switched off the engine and stepped out.

Unlocking the door with the spare key Mrs. Hudson had given him, he coaxed Sherlock and John up the stairs a hand on each of their back, lest they fall asleep on their feet. The ride to Baker street had been miraculously filled with less talk and more droopy eyes and yawns from those two.

With a tired sigh he collapsed onto the couch in the living room after dumping the purchases onto the kitchen floor.

Sure that he had earned a respite, he leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes. He felt Sherlock and John fall onto the couch on either side of him.

As one both of them turned sideways and promptly curled up, using Greg's thighs as headrests.

Lestrade stared at them, wondering whether to feel honored at the show of trust or annoyed with the heavy heads resting on his aching legs.

Deciding on the former he let his eyes slide closed, smiling slightly at the the already sleeping miscreants.

He would have to make sure that they did not fall ill or catch cold tomorrow.

Oh, he would never be able to stay annoyed at them, would he?

* * *

 _Hello. I am updating so soon. What is the world coming to?_

 _Anyway, this chapter looks like kidlock but I assure you, it is not. It's just two grown men taking the life out of our favorite DI._

 _I know next to nothing about the winter wonderland or English currency or anything else. I don't mean to offend anybody. So please forgive me for any mistakes I have made and feel free to correct me._

 _As usual, opinions and ideas are welcome. Please r & r. _

_And thank you for all those who read, reviewed, favorited and followed._

 _Hope you enjoyed._

 _Ta,_

 _Laila._


	3. Party time

John adjusted his tie and looked at Sherlock who was stretched out on the couch in his robe, his suit and tie lying neatly folded but abandoned on the table beside him.

"You know that you have to get ready sometime soon, right? Greg promised no cases unless we attend this party of his' " John questioned, taking a seat in his chair carefully so as not to wrinkle his newly pressed special occasion suit.

"Dull" responded the detective, for all appearances looking to be asleep.

"That's exactly how it's going to be if you don't have cases for the next three months. Greg is a man of his word. Attending his birthday party is a small price to pay if you are looking forward to solving cases."

Sherlock groaned and opened one eye to glare at his suit, then at John before getting to his feet and donning on the tux over his white shirt.

Then turning to face John again, he said, "I don't want to wear a tie. And most certainly not this one. It looks absolutely horrendous. And what kind of suit is this. It feels like I am wearing a jute bag. Couldn't Lestrade at least have the 'partygoers' wear clothes according to their wishes? The women are certainly free to wear what they want, after all. He just enjoys torturing me."

"He knows that allowed to your own devices, you would probably turn up at his place wearing your dress robe or God forbid, a sheet. And for your information this is what people generally wear when going to a party or a festivity."

Sherlock scowled, reluctantly fastening his tie. "Who else is going to be there?" he asked with a grimace, as he encountered a suited up image of himself on the mirror.

"Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Dimmock, Donovan, Anderson, a couple other people and you and me" John replied, and then with a grin added, "and of course, Mycroft."

"Mycroft? What the hell is my _brother_ doing there? He never attends social events." Sherlock nearly yelled, whirling around and glaring accusingly at John.

"Don't blame me. It puzzles me how Greg managed to even call your brother. But he did. And now we'd better get going. Mrs. Hudson is probably waiting for us." John said, getting up and making his way to the door, with Sherlock reluctantly following him.

* * *

"Ha, there you are. Knew you'd come. Good idea, threatening you with no cases." Greg Lestrade greeted the two. Mrs. Hudson had floated off to speak with Molly who stood near the food table.

"Bloody good idea. I was the one stuck with the complaining idiot for three days" growled John under his breath, while said idiot watched the people around him with a scowl on his face but already analyzing each one.

With a glare he turned to the other two and said,"I thought you said that there was only about ten people invited. There are more then twenty disgusting humans here."

"No other way. You would never have come otherwise." said Greg with a shrug.

"And why did you invite Mycroft? He probably agreed because of the cake. Stupid fat brother. And there's music? And talking? Why didn't you warn me? Oh God, I hope you have a case worthy of this torture when this party ends, Lestrade." Sherlock rattled off.

"Oh, he does, brother mine. I can assure you. And I am not here for the cake. I came because Gregory invited me and I am doing a favor in return for the time he spends keeping you occupied with cases." Mycroft's voice floated from behind him as he stood behind Sherlock with his customary suit and umbrella.

Sherlock glared heavily at Mycroft then at Lestrade and finally at John. With a sniff he stalked off with a "come on, John" to a place not infested with troublesome brothers. John followed with a sigh and a look towards the birthday boy and the troublesome brother.

"See that he doesn't leave" Greg said to John, who nodded with another sigh, hurrying to catch up with Sherlock.

Greg exchanged a smirk with Mycroft.

* * *

"So, are we really going to stand in a corner until the party ends?"

"What do you suggest we do then?"

After a moment, two faces lit up with identical grins and mischievous sparks ignited within two pairs of eyes.

"Let's make this a party that Detective Inspector Lestrade will never forget."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Sherlock and John clinked their glasses and draining them, made their way to the DJ.

* * *

"...And so the minister had no choice but to excuse the man." Mycroft told a laughing Greg.

"Oh God. I don't know how you kept a straight face. That was the best joke I've heard in ages. This party is going good." Greg said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Apparently he had spoken too soon.

The gentle melody playing over the speakers changed and the softly swaying people looked up in confusion as 'Who Let The Dogs Out' by Baha Men started blasting in full volume.

With an agonized groan Greg and Mycroft looked over at John and Sherlock standing on the slightly raised platform near the DJ.

"This song is dedicated to Gavin ...(Greg, Sherlock) ... sorry, Greg Lestrade who turns ... um, I think 55 this day. Happy birthday, Lestrade. May you have many more unsuccessful cases so that you bring them to me. Cheers."

Sherlock surrendered the mike to John and stood behind him with his hands behind his back, the every image of an innocent but respectable detective.

John faced the still crowd who were looking at Sherlock and Greg [The latter having buried his face into his hands]. "Er ... right. That was a great speech Sherlock. A toast to the birthday boy."

Sherlock and John raised their glasses expectantly and waited for the others to do the same. When they didn't, they shrugged at each other and clinked their glasses with a cheerful "Happy birthday, Lestrade".

Now making their way towards the inspector [Encouraging people to dance and enjoy the song, along the way], they took their seats on either side of him. [Mycroft was mysteriously nowhere to be found].

"Alright Greg. This isn't usual, but we've got you a gift." John said, reaching into his pockets.

Despite his mortification, Greg looked up curiously. At first at Sherlock and John's earnest faces, then at the curious crowd gathered around them. Trying to block out That song blasting in the background, he reached out and received what looked like a hastily wrapped package.

A T-Shirt unrolled.

Amidst loud hoots of laughter from the people and snickers from Sherlock and John there came shouts of "Put it on".

Soon the whole room was shouting "Put. It. On. Put. It. On."

With grimace and a glare towards two particular men and a plea for help at another man [Who had mysteriously appeared again], Greg removed his suit and pulled the Tee over his white shirt.

Minutes later Sherlock and John dragged a man towards the center of the dance floor.

 _I depend on the Baker Street Boys,_ read the T-Shirt he was wearing.

* * *

Soon the crowd had parted to cheer a detective and a doctor having a dance-off.

The supposed center of attraction stood gloomily in the corner as he watched his guests including Molly and even Mrs. Hudson laughing at the the two miscreants.

 _Why I ever invited them is beyond me. And 55! As if. Only Sherlock Holmes would make a 45 year old man 55 and also make him feel the same age._

"Why you ever invited them is beyond me, Gregory. Though I admit that they dance well. But anyways, I never knew you were 55. You looked a lot older. It's probably ..."

"Shut up, Mycroft."

* * *

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to Greg, happy birthday to you" Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Greg's neighbor came into view, wheeling a cake towards a very red Greg wearing a birthday hat and an abashed smile.

John who was filming the whole thing, raised an eyebrow to Sherlock who nodded and disappeared through the crowd.

When he appeared again, he was holding something behind him and he nodded to John again.

Handing off the camera to Dimmock who was standing near him, John made his way to Sherlock and asked, "Shall we?".

Exchanging purely sadistic grins, they pushed their way towards Greg who was being handed a knife by Mycroft.

"No, Greg" John stopped him, as Sherlock snatched the knife from a confused looking Lestrade,"You've got to make a wish. And you must close your eyes while you do that." he added, as Sherlock stuck a candle in the cake.

With a suspicious glance towards the two, Lestrade closed his eyes after a hesitant 'o-okay'.

"Well, I've made my wish. Shall we proceed?" he asked, after opening his eyes.

He stared in confusion at the open mouthed people around him. Mycroft looked like he was about to punch something. Mrs. Hudson looked resigned. Molly looked torn between amusement and anger. Donovan and Anderson had that look that commonly was present when Sherlock insulted them.

Speaking of ... Looked like Sherlock and John had disappeared during the few seconds it had taken him to make a wish. Then with growing trepidation, he looked towards the cake as the majority of the people's looks seemed to be directed that way.

What was once a no doubt delicious, large and his favorite Victoria Sponge cake and would have no doubt been enough for at least 20 people, now looked as if it wouldn't suffice even 2 people.

Two large, and large it was, pieces were missing from the cake. The remainder now looked like two triangles left as a show of pity.

And there was no doubt in Greg's mind as to who was , or rather, who were, the robbers.

* * *

"That was fast."

"Well, we did have only a few seconds."

A pause in which two burps were heard in unison.

"We won't be invited for any future parties."

"Thank Goodness."

A pause.

"But ..."

"Yeah, I know ..."

"Mrs. Hudson baked it. She may do it yet again for us."

"You think?"

"Not any time soon. But one day."

"Do you think Lestrade will give us any cases?"

"Well, we did attend his party."

A pause. A sigh.

"How much time do you think it will take them to figure out where we are?"

"They are idiots. Nobody looks on the roof. Much less on his own roof."

A pause.

"Here we are looking at the stars, just stretched out. People might talk."

"They do little else."

A cough. A slight shuffle.

"We kind of behaved like kids."

"Birthday parties are for kids."

A yawn. Another yawn.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight John."

* * *

 _Hi guys. So sorry for the late update. Had to go out of town for a couple of weeks. But I'll update faster hereafter._

 _And FYI, I don't really know Greg's age, though I'm sure it's not 55. Probably around 45._

 _As for my other story [when there's nothing, we still have each other], I'll update that too in a couple of days._

 _So enjoy._

 _As always thank you for all those who f,f,r,r ed and reviews and opinions welcome._

 _Ta,_

 _Laila._


	4. Remotely united

_"... and the weather as usual is looking to be quite damp. So grab onto your coats and..."_

The weather reporter continued blaring when John sighed and changed the channel. Graham Norton came up and John smiled as he watched him tease his current guests, Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint.

He was not really a fan of reality shows. So for what felt like the hundredth time he yet again changed the channel, delighted when his favorite movie, Doctor Strange, came up. He normally didn't watch superhero kind of movies but this one had touched him in a strange way. And also the actor strangely reminded him of someone familiar (Though he couldn't place who it was).

Rare were the times when he got to watch the T.V, mostly running off after Sherlock and collapsing tiredly into bed afterwards. So rushing to the kitchen, he grabbed a packet of crisps and a can of soda.

Sherlock had gone out to the morgue to grab a few toes and a kidney from Molly. John had declined to go with him, insisting that he had just eaten Mrs. Hudson's delicious meringue pie and he didn't want it to come out again, thank you very much. In his defense Sherlock did have the most gruesome ways of extracting body parts. So he was alone for at least a couple of hours.

Apparently he had spoken too soon.

"Mrs. Hudson. Tea and biscuits", came a shout from downstairs.

"Not your housekeeper, Sherlock", came the reply.

Thundering footsteps echoed and before long a slightly breathless and clearly annoyed Sherlock made an appearance in his and John's living room, followed by a certain landlady laden with a pot of tea and fresh cookies and scones.

"No kidneys, Sherlock?", John questioned with a slight smirk.

"Nope. No bodies to dig into" he groaned, making his way to the couch in which John was seated.

John winced at the mental picture of 'digging into bodies' and frowned up at Sherlock who was looking at him expectantly.

"What?", he asked, confused.

"Budge over, John. I have to sit", was Sherlock's answer.

"You know, if you move one step to the right there's a perfectly large space for you to sit. If you could go into so much trouble."

"No, this is my favorite side. Move over."

Amidst mutterings of 'bloody annoying detective's, Mrs. Hudson clattering downstairs and crunches of biscuits, John and Sherlock finally settled down to watch the movie. All was quiet for seven seconds.

"What rubbish movie are you watching?"

John sighed.

"Look, Sherlock, this is one of my favorite movies. I am looking forward to a relaxing night, but if the movie bothers you, take your arse somewhere else and leave me in peace."

 _Click._

 _"...is he a great wizard or is he ... more like you?"_

"Sherlock!", John shouted, "Give me back the remote."

The shout as usual fell on deaf ears.

"John, John. It's The Hobbit. We are watching this." Sherlock looked at John with half pleading, half commanding eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes, we have already watched that movie and I like only the dragon which, incidentally,doesn't appear until the next part. We are watching Doctor Strange."

 _Snatch._

 _"...a person can last 30 minutes before suffering permanent..."_

"But John, have you _seen_ Bilbo? He reminds me of you. Wanting to go on an adventure. Very short."

"Yeah? Well, Doctor Strange reminds me of you. Talented. Egoistical bastard."

 _Snatch._

"Give me the remote."

"We are watching ..."

"...Doctor Strange."

John, with a grunt, launched himself on top of Sherlock's seated/stretched figure and scrambled for the remote.

"Give ... that ... here."

Sherlock clamped one palm over John's face, the other hand holding up the remote as high as he could, while still being seated on the couch.

"Not ... a ... chance."

 _Scuffle. Grunt._

"Um...bad timing?"

Sherlock and John turned quickly towards the door. Unfortunately, John scrambling out of Sherlock's lap and plopping hard onto the couch seemed to be all said couch had been waiting for.

With a thud the couch fell backwards taking the detective and the doctor with it.

Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson sighed from the doorway.

Greg turned to the landlady. "Mrs. Hudson, I heard that two grown ups lived here. One solved cases and the other blogged about it. Have they moved out?"

"I'm okay. Sherlock, get up." John jumped up from where he had fallen, pulling a giggling and groaning detective to his feet.

"Boys, you know that I've got a perfectly good telly downstairs. But unfortunately it's remote doesn't work for your T.V." Mrs. Hudson said, pointing to somewhere near their feet.

Sheepishly Sherlock and John turned around to look where she was pointing. A smashed remote controller lay with it's batteries rolled out in different directions.

They looked at each other and within seconds were rolling on the ground, laughing.

"Are we missing something?", Lestrade asked, confused.

"Yes. Sanity . Especially in a particular genius and soldier", Mrs. Hudson responded, facepalming.

* * *

Minutes later four people were seated 221 C. Two people were sulking with arms crossed and glares directed towards the other two people in the room. The other two people paid no mind to the glares directed their way, their attention rather divided between the telly and the biscuits in front of them.

 _"... the name's Bond. James Bond."_

Greg Lestrade and Martha Hudson exchanged smirks and glanced in amusement toward Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, who were reluctantly but with dawning curiosity watching 007 leap after some criminal.

 _Maybe the kids wouldn't give much trouble tonight, after all._

* * *

 _37 seconds later ..._

 _Silence._

 _"... and due to heavy storms, London is facing a severe blackout. Better grab onto some flashlights and candles,_ folks...", The radio blared in the background.

"Oh no...", groaned four voices from the darkness.

* * *

 _Hi. Disclaimer : I do not own the movies and shows referenced in this chapter. Nor do I know about the weather or weather reports in London. And I also don't know if London faces blackouts at all. So, sorry in advance for any mistakes and feel free to correct them, if you find any. I don't mean to offend anybody._

 _As always, thank you to all those who read, reviewed, followed and favorited my story. And opinions and ideas are always welcome._

 _And also, sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than the other ones._

 _Hope you enjoyed._

 _Ta,_

 _Laila._


	5. We didn't do it

_A/N : I don't have the faintest idea what the chemical described below is. It's just a mixture of my crappy research and writing. So sorry in advance for future mistakes. Feel free to correct me._

 _And also, it's not Sherlock who invented it, it was probably discovered a long time ago, so ... ; )_

 _Enjoy..._

* * *

John poked his head through the kitchen door, curious of the sweet, tangy smells emanating from it.

"Hey. What are you working on, Sherlock?", he asked the detective currently immersed in some god forsaken experiment with God know knows what.

"John? I thought you were at Tesco!", Sherlock replied, his head tilted slightly as he took in the sight of John.

"Er, yeah. That was three hours ago."

"Hmm. I must have deleted that."

"Yeeah. Figured that out.", he told to himself as Sherlock appeared to have gone back to his experiment.

Moments later Sherlock looked up in annoyance at the sound of a throat being cleared.

"What? I'm working."

"Yes. And I asked you what you were working on."

"You did?"

"Yes. Have you deleted that too?"

"Probably."

"So..."

"Oh. I'm working on an experiment."

 _A pause._

"I don't know if you are mocking me or if you really think I'm that stupid."

"I really think you're that stupid. Glad we've cleared that out. Now, go away."

 _"Sherlock!"_

"Alright. I'm studying the effects water and acetone has on wood. The mixture of these both causes the precipitation of ... oh, for God's sake, stop looking like a dumb idiot, John. You won't understand this. I will demonstrate it to you. Now watch closely."

John closed his mouth, which had dropped open in confusion midway through Sherlock's explanation, and inched closer.

Sherlock tilted the beaker he was holding and let a single drop of the liquid inside, fall onto the table which contained all of the chemistry equipment.

A perfectly round hole appeared on the place where the liquid had touched the table.

Sherlock grinned triumphantly at a slightly impressed John.

"And you figured that out yourself? Amazing!", John said, with a look of awe on his face.

Sherlock beamed. Then he turned to place the beaker onto the table. Which was the exact moment when John's hand came up to examine the contents of the beaker up close. The rest, as they say, was history.

Their hands clashed together, the beaker crashed onto the table and two looks of utter horror appeared on their faces.

Sherlock hurried to straighten the beaker. But the damage was already done.

With a speed rivaling that of light the table disappeared into thin air, the glass beakers, test tubes and the microscope crashed to the floor. And if that was not bad enough, some of the liquid reached the floor and before their very eyes a hole the size of the smiley on the wall appeared on the floor.

As one, Sherlock and John peered into it only to see Mrs. Hudson directly below them, going about her cooking. And thankfully wearing headphones.

Slowly they turned to each other.

"Do you think we should move out?"

"Well, we are adults. We can explain it to Mrs. Hudson."

"Yes. You're right."

 _A pause._

"Maybe we could get out for a day."

"She would kill us when we get back."

"Probably."

 _Gulp!_

* * *

Ten minutes later, with a great amount of time spent arguing, they moved a cardboard box above the hole and cleaned up the broken glass and the remaining wood in the kitchen. Well, John did and Sherlock just went about ordering him around.

"Right. Now, we just act cool. Hopefully Mrs. Hudson doesn't find any reason to go into the kitchen. She promised to bring us her scones some time back. She should be here soon. And Sherlock, do not mess this up."

"I do not mess anything up. And the probability of her entering the kitchen and seeing the giant hole is actually ...", he trailed off as footsteps echoed on the stairs.

Exchanging purely frightened looks, Sherlock and John took their places and tried to 'act cool'. Which is a difficult feat when one keeps glancing at the kitchen and the stairs, reading a newspaper upside down and screeching away on the violin.

"Here you are, boys. And Sherlock, please stop abusing that poor instrument", Mrs. Hudson came into their living room, bearing a plate of fresh scones and a pot of tea.

Both of her 'boys' exchanged looks of relief as their landlady took a seat on the couch, never once glancing towards the kitchen.

* * *

"Lestrade would be pleased. This is the second murder you've solved for him in two days", John commented as he paid for the cab they had taken from the crime scene.

"Yes. However the case was annoyingly easy to solve", Sherlock said, and seeing John roll his eyes, added, "For me, at least."

Letting themselves in, they had just locked the door behind them when a voice sounded from the depths of the rooms downstairs.

"There you are. I was wondering when you'd come. Are you both hurt anywhere?", Mrs. Hudson appeared in her doorway, gazing worriedly at them.

"Oh no. Thanks for asking, Mrs. H. We're just fine", John said, smiling at her.

"Well, then. It won't be a problem if I give you some injuries, will it?" Mrs. Hudson had changed from worried to murderous in a flash.

Both of them froze, the happenings or the mishaps of earlier returning to their minds.

Both of them explained simultaneously.

"It was John."

"It was Sherlock."

* * *

"I thought we had everything planned out. You just spoilt them all." Sherlock glared at John, then winced as a particularly sore bruise came in contact with the ice pack.

"Oh, you are one to talk. You blamed me, when it was clearly your fault." John returned his glare, snatching the ice pack from his friend and placing it over his head. He sighed in relief and smirked when Sherlock scowled at him and reached over to grab another pack. They were seated in their half demolished kitchen (With the door safely locked), nursing their fresh injuries, which were a gift of their landlady.

She had chased them around her flat, up the stairs, around half of their flat, all the while whacking them with her spatula, until they had barricaded themselves into the kitchen, resulting in her storming off with threats of castrations and beheadings hanging in the air.

"She needn't have gotten so angry, really."

"Really, Sherlock? After you ... fine, we... destroyed half her kitchen, her new kitchen, which she had had remodeled after you ... yes, you ... destroyed the old one by exploding human kidneys and jack fruits? I think that she has every right to try and murder us with her spatula."

 _A pause._

"Well, she shouldn't have hit so hard."

"Yeah. I have to side with you on that."

 _Silence broken only by the occasional groans and sighs._

"I don't think she saw the hole on the floor. Just saw the destroyed table and the broken equipment, which incidentally we haven't thrown out yet, and she assumed the worst."

"Well, that's a relief. I don't want to imagine what she would use to hit us if there was a big hole on her kitchen ceiling."

 _"SHERLOCK HOLMES AND JOHN WATSON, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BLOODY CEILING?"_

 _Two throats gulped._

"Is there a fire escape in the kitchen?"

"No. But we can make a dash for the living room windows."

"Ok. Together?"

"Together."

* * *

 _Well, that's the end folks. But if you have any prompts, I'd be glad to write them._

 _Thank you to all the people who has read, reviewed, faved and followed this. You have been a source of support and encouragement to me. Hats off._

 _Hope you enjoyed. And hope to write more._

 _Ta,_

 _Laila._


End file.
